Try
by Houseketeer
Summary: Post Ep 3x24. House plays guitar, then phones Cameron.HouseCameron, smut


**Try**

_"I've gotten all I can from this job."_

"What do you expect me to do? Break down and apologize? Beg Chase to come back?"

"No, I expect you to do what you always do. I expect you to make a joke, and go on. I expect you to be just fine. I'll miss you."

In his apartment, playing his new guitar, House reflects on his exchange with Cameron. This isn't like last time. She's not quitting (_she didn't quit—past tense_—he corrects himself) because she thinks she has to, or to get something from him. "_I've gotten all I can from this job._" Not I've learned all I can, or I've gone as far as I can. All he can hear in that sentence is, 'I can't get _you_ from this job.' At this thought, he notices what song he's unconsciously playing. _You Can't Always Get What You Want._

"Damn straight." He says the words aloud, and then the room feels emptier for it. He's more alone.

He continues to play. _But if you try sometimes_... He hasn't tried, not with her. He considers all the times he possibly could have had her, if he'd tried at all. The monster trucks. The date. "_You just couldn't love __**me**_." The hug. The kiss, for fucks sake. She kissed him. And hundreds of other times—every time she handed him something or merely looked at him. In his office when she touched his wrist. "_I expect you to be just fine. I'll miss you_."

And he would be just fine: as fine as he was before he met her. _Not very fine at all_, he thought. As a doctor she was completely replaceable. That meant there had to be some other explanation for the disappointment he'd felt when she said "resignation letter."

_Ok so I want her. She's fucking Chase. She's probably doing him right now_. This thought had his heart racing; had him reaching for his cell phone. 

She picked up on the fourth ring. "House what is it?"

"Where are you?"

"I'm at home, why?"

"You want to maybe come over for a drink?"

He hears her sigh into the phone. "House, I'm with Chase."

"Consolation prize." She doesn't answer. "_With him_ with him, or with him this second?"

"_With him_ with him."

"I'm coming over."

"House!"

He waits to hear what comes next, but she's silent. "I'm coming over."

She sighs again. "Ok." 

oOoOo

She's watching for him, and she opens the door before he can knock. She holds it open and he walks into her living room; it's his first time inside. He sits on the couch and leans his cane against it. Cameron looks at him a moment, absorbs the sight of him in her habitat. He looks good here, and it makes her vaguely sad. She pads to the kitchen on bare feet, and returns with a mug of coffee which she sets before him.

"Just like old times," he says as she sits down on the opposite end of the couch.

She shakes her head at him and smiles. "What are you doing here House?"

"You don't work for me anymore."

"This is true."

He sips from his mug. "You need to leave a note for your replacement about the coffee."

A tiny crinkle at her brow, but then it's gone. "I can do that."

He sets the mug down on her coffee table. "Why are you with Chase?"

"House, that's not…"

"Not what? Not easy to answer? That's because you _have_ no answer; there _is_ no answer."

"No answer? You didn't answer! Why are you _here_ House?"

He stands and raises his voice to match hers. "I'm here to fucking get you, ok? You should be with me!" He pauses for her reaction, but she just looks at him, so he continues. Dramatic speeches about feelings aren't his forte, but he can churn it out when he needs to. "You're looking at me with that look, like I'm a crazy asshole, and I am, I'm a crazy asshole and this doesn't make a lot of sense." He pauses in his pacing and sighs heavily. "I was thinking about what you said, about how I'll be fine, and you are—you are replaceable but not as…why are you with him anyway? He doesn't get you."

"And you do?"

He stares down at her. "You know I do."

"Then you already know why I'm with him. You've already said—"

"But you—I'm right here!"

"Yeah, and it's not that simple. You're here now, but what's it going to be tomorrow? Besides—"

He cuts her off. "Cameron I don't do this and then flake out, that's why you've never seen me in a—Cameron I'm trying here."

She cocks her head to the side, and he watches her silently thinking for a moment. "You are," she agreed.

He doesn't know what to say, so he just waits, motionless. She gets up from the couch, and wraps her arms around him, the side of her face pressed against his chest. He folds her in his arms and holds her, just feeling her breathe. He begins to relax, melt into her. She tips her chin up to kiss him, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world. He kisses her more ardently, more urgently. All of a sudden he can feel the weight of three years of waiting pressing down on them and he has to have her, now. "Cameron…"

"Yeah," she whispers, and leads him to her bedroom.

Now that it's a certainty—it's happening—the urgency drops away. No more words pass between them because it's all been said. Cameron pulls her camisole tank top over her head and slips out of her yoga pants and panties. She lies down on the bed, and watches him. By this time he is shirtless; he is unbuckling his belt. His pants fall to the floor, and he sits on the side of the bed and lies down. She rolls over and leans to kiss him.

He takes her by her hips and pulls her to straddle his waist; she's so delicate in his hands. His hands slip down her thighs on both sides of his body, then up her sides to cup her breasts. She's perfect; she's his. Finally. He slides his right hand down her belly and between her legs. His fingertips glide over her clit, impossibly wet, and she gasps. He massages her with the pads of his fingers, from her entrance to her clit, over and over, and she starts to gyrate above him in time with his movements. "House," she whispers.

Neither of them can wait anymore. He pushes her back a bit, and takes his cock in his hand. He positions it at her entrance, and she slides down on it slowly, an inch at a time. For a moment he's inside her as far as possible, but then she begins to move above him, fucking him. She leans over him, bracing her weight just above his shoulders, and he can watch the obvious pleasure on her face. He returns his damp fingers to touch her and watches her react, moaning, gasping, and writhing above him. Nothing could be sexier than seeing what he does to her. She climaxes and he can feel it; he feels her gripping his erection with her slick, hot body. He rolls her onto her back, still inside her.

This hurts, but it's worth it. Her pace was maddeningly slow and sexy, now he takes her hard and fast. Her head tips back and she groans, "Oh my god," which spurs him on. He leans down and kisses between her breasts, up her neck and behind her ear. She tastes like sex. He thinks he never wants this to stop, but then he remembers he can do it again and again—forever—she's his. He never wants it to stop but she's coming again and it's more erotic than he can stand. He comes hard, biting his own forearm to keep from screaming.

In unspoken agreement, they arrange the covers over them and she curls up against his left side. This is probably a forecast of how it will be with them: they understand each other so well they don't have to say anything. He hasn't changed. He still worries this is all going to fall apart, in fact he's betting on it. But if that day comes at least he'll have the satisfaction of knowing what would have happened if he'd tried. 

FIN


End file.
